Bricks

Dear Ned, I now take up my pen to write

    you these few lines,

And hopin' how they find you fit. Gorbli',

    it seems an age

Since Jumbo ducked the Port, 'n' drilled 'n'

    polished to the nines,

He walked his pork on Collins like a hero off

    the stage,

Then hiked a rifle 'cross the sea this bleedin'

    war to wage.

The things what's 'appened lately calls to

    Jumbo's mind that day

Our push took on the Peewee pack, 'n'

    belted out their lard,

With twenty cops to top it off. But now I'm

    stowed away,

A bullet in me gizzard where I took it good

    and hard,

A-dealin'-stoush 'n' mullock to the Prussian

    flamin' Guard.

At Bullcoor mortal charnce had dumped a

    mutton-truck of us

From good ole Port ker-flummox where we

    didn't orter be,

All in a 'elpless hole-the Pug, Bill Carkeek,

    Son, 'n' Gus,

Don, Steve, 'n' Jack, 'n' seven more, 'n', as

    it 'appens, me,

With nothin' in since breakfast, 'n' a week

    to go for tea.

Worked loose from Caddy's bunch, we went

    it gay until we found

We'd took to 'arf the ragin' German Hempire

    on our own.

Then down we went so 'umble, with our noses

    in the ground,

Takin' cover in the rubble. If a German head

    was shown

It was fare-the-well to Herman with a bullet

    through the bone.

We slogged the cows remorseless, 'n' they

    laid for us a treat.

We held that stinkin' cellar, though, 'n' when

    the day was done

Son pussied on his bingie where a Maxie trim

    'n' neat

Had spit out loaded lightnin', and he slugged

    a tubby Hun,

Then choked a Fritzie with his dukes, 'n'

    pinched the sooner's gun!

We rigged her on her knuckle-bones. Cri',

    how she lapped 'em up!

We hosed 'em out with livin' lead. That was

    the second day.

Me left eye I'd 'ave give for jest a bubble in a

    cup,

Three fingers I'd 'ave parted for a bone I've

    flung away;

But the butcher wasn't callin', 'n' the fountain

    didn't play.

T'was rotten mozzle, Neddo. We had blown

    out ever clip,

'N' 'blooed the hammunition for the little box

    of tricks.

Each took a batten in his fist. Sez Billy

    “Let 'er rip!”

But Son he claws his stubble. Sez—he:

    “Hold a brace of ticks.”

Then “Yow!” he pipes 'n' “Strewth!” he

    sez, “it's bricks, you blighters,

    bricks!”

There's more than 'arf a million spilt where

    somethin' hit a pub;

We creeps among 'n' sorts 'em, stack afore,

    'n' stack behind;

The Hun is comin' at us with his napper like

    a tub—

You couldn't 'ope to miss it, pickled, par-

    alysed, 'n' blind.

Sez Sonny: “Lay 'em open! Give 'em

    blotches on the rind!”

Then bricks was flyin' in the wind. Mine

    dinted Otto's chin;

Ole Nosey got his brother, which he never

    more will roam.

When Ulrich stopped a Port bookay he rolled

    his alley in.

Their fire was somethin' fierce. Poor Son

    was blowin' blood 'n' foam,

“Fill up,” he coughs, “'n' plug 'em! S'elp

    me Gord, we're goin' 'ome!”

With bricks we drove right at 'em 'n' we

    wanged 'em best we could.

'Twas either bed 'n' breakfast or a scribble

    and a wreath.

Haynes bust a Prussian's almond, took the

    bay'net where he stood,

Then heaved his last 'arf-Brunswick, split

    the demon's grinnin' teeth,

And Son went down in glory, with a German

    underneath!

We'd started out with gibbers in our clobber

    and our 'ats.

They gave us floatin' lead enough to stop an

    army cor.

We yelled like fiends, 'n' countered with a

    lovely flight of bats,

Then rushed in close formation, heavin' cot-

    tages, n' tore

Through blinded, bleedin' Bosches, 'n' lor

    love yeh, it was war!

We came peltin', headfirst, 'elpless, in a drain

    among a lot

Of dirty, damned old Tommies (Gord! The

    best that ever blew!)

Eight left of us, all punctured, each man

    holdin' what he'd got.

Me wild, a rat hole in me lung, but in me

    mauley, too,

A bull-nosed brick with whiskers where no

    whiskers ever grew.

There's nothin' doin' now. I wear me blan-

    kets like a toff.

The way this fat nurse pets me, strewth, it's

    well to be so sick,

A-dreamin' of our contract 'n' the way we

    pulled it off.

I reckon Haig is phonin' Hughes: “Hullo,

    there, Billy. Quick—

A dozen of the pushes and a thousan' tons

    of brick!”